


Flashbang + Fireman's Axe

by icountcards



Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Lame title is lame, Whump, a break-it fic if you will, consider this the opposite of a fix-it fic, tag to 3x22, very late chapter 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-18
Updated: 2020-02-13
Packaged: 2020-03-07 03:49:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18865105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icountcards/pseuds/icountcards
Summary: “Sure, normal people don’t go around swinging axes at flashbangs, but can they do this?” She holds up a hand and rotates it so her wrist pops and clicks audibly, ignoring the pain that shoots through her wrist at the motion. “It’s not broken, just sprained,” she reassures Riley, who’s staring at her in horror.“We clearly have different definitions of ‘fine’,” Riley says.Tag to 3x22. Desi's totally fine after that stunt she pulled to get Oversight out of the safe room. (She's totally not.)Now with follow-up chapter 2!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Macgyver May Week 2: Whump. I know I already posted something for this week, but you get a double feature this week because I have strong feelings about that finale. Yeah, sorry @ the show writers, no way Desi would be as uninjured as she was at the end of that episode. 
> 
> There's a part 2 of this that leans toward the comfort side of hurt/comfort, but I'm not totally happy with it yet, so I may or may not post it.
> 
> ETA: chapter 2 is finally here!

Desi’s lungs burn from the smoke by the time she makes it out of the building with the guard’s help, and she’s still unsteady on her feet, but it’s not until Oversight is being tended to by paramedics that she’s willing to let him out of her sight. Even then, she doesn’t go far, leaning heavily against a light post as she watches the barely-controlled chaos around her. 

It’s probably a bad sign that she doesn’t notice Riley approaching until she’s right next to her. “Did you get checked out?” Riley asks, gesturing to the EMTs.

Desi shakes her head. Her vision swims. “I’m fine,” she says, despite the way the words scrape across her throat as she speaks. She’s going to hurt like hell when the adrenaline wears off, and there’s a shallow gash across her cheek that stings like a bitch, but it’s nothing life-threatening. Better for the medical professionals to focus on the others. 

Riley just raises her eyebrows. “After what you just did? Doubt it,” she says.

She shrugs, the movement sending dull spikes of pain down her arm. “Nothing serious,” she says, squinting; her eyes still haven’t adjusted to the bright outdoors after her time in the dim, smoky hallways. “I’ll live.” 

“That was crazy.” Riley shakes her head. “You’re crazy.”

Desi grins, a little too widely. “Sure, normal people don’t go around swinging axes at flashbangs, but can they do this?” She holds up a hand and rotates it so her wrist pops and clicks audibly, ignoring the pain that shoots through her wrist at the motion. “It’s not broken, just sprained,” she reassures Riley, who’s staring at her in horror. 

“We clearly have different definitions of ‘fine’,” Riley says. “You should get checked out.”

“Don’t need to,” Desi says, and she maybe overshoots the mark of ‘everything’s totally fine’ and it comes out a little too bright and cheerful. 

Riley looks her up and down critically, taking in the way she’s leaning her weight on the post. “You can’t even stand on your own.” 

“Of course I can,” Desi says and pushes herself away from the post with her shoulder. Except she overbalances and stumbles as she straightens up, struggling to get her feet solidly underneath herself as the world spins. 

Riley reaches out to steady her as she nearly falls, her hand a solid, stable presence against her shoulder. “Hey, I think you should sit down,” she says. 

That’s a good idea. Desi probably should’ve thought of that. She stops trying to keep her balance and drops abruptly to sit cross-legged in the parking lot. “Good idea,” she says, tongue tripping over the words.

“Hey! Whoa, I didn’t mean right here,” Riley says. “Come on, let’s find you a bench or something.” She offers a hand to help Desi up, and Desi takes it, biting back a wince at the tug on her injured wrist as she stands and immediately slumps against Riley as her legs threaten to give out. 

“I’m fine,” Desi says again, fighting to balance.

“Yeah, I can see that, you’re doing just great,” Riley says, rolling her eyes as she hooks Desi’s arm around her shoulders and carefully leads her toward one of the ambulances. 

It’s still almost unbearably bright outside, enough to give her a headache, and a dull ache is steadily spreading across her ribs. It’s easier to go along with Riley than to fight it, even if it’s a waste of time, she tells herself, so she just leans into Riley’s side, trying not to let the dried blood on her face rub off on Riley’s jacket. Every step she takes is a shockwave. Riley still smells like smoke and burned plastic, and her stomach turns. She only just manages to turn away from Riley before she’s emptying its contents onto the pavement. 

When she looks up, Riley’s giving her a concerned look. “Still fine?” she says, raising an eyebrow. 

Desi tries to flash a smile, but it comes out shaped more like a grimace. “Could be better,” she allows, making a face at the taste of puke. She spits. It does nothing to get rid of the taste. 

Riley disappears for a moment, and Desi sways on her feet before dropping gracelessly to her knees instead of trying to stay upright. When Riley returns, she’s holding a bottle of water out to Desi. “Here,” she says. 

Desi reaches for it, misjudges, and knocks it onto the ground. “Sorry,” she says as she picks it up and fights with the cap. She spits her first mouthful of water back onto the ground before slowly drinking. Riley’s saying something, but she’s zoned out and missed it. “What?”

“I said, you’ve totally got a concussion,” Riley says.

Desi frowns, headache pressing in on her thoughts as she tries to focus. Riley’s right. Well. That’s going to be annoying as hell to recover from. 

One of the EMTs has made their way over to where Desi’s still kneeling on the pavement. “Have you been cleared?” she asks.

Desi opens her mouth, but before she can get her words arranged in the right order, Riley’s talking. “She hasn’t,” Riley says. 

“Don’t worry about me,” she tries to say, but the words come out like mush. Riley helps her back to her feet, and they follow the EMT the rest of the way to the ambulance. Desi lets herself be shuffled around to get her vitals checked. The sooner she gets cleared to go home and wash off the dust and smoke, the better. She flinches away from the light when the woman shines a penlight in her eyes to check her pupils. 

“Take a couple deep breaths for me,” the woman prompts. Desi does as she’s directed and fights down a reaction to the pain that lances through her right side. “What happened to you?”

“She got up close and personal with a flashbang,” Riley says before Desi can answer. Desi does her best not to jolt as the woman carefully checks her for injuries. 

“That explains the cracked ribs,” the woman says. “Any other symptoms? Headache, dizziness, confusion, fatigue?” She wraps Desi’s wrist in Ace bandage with steady hands.

Desi rolls her eyes, throwing the woman out of focus in her field of vision. “I’m just tired.” 

The woman gives Desi a look like she doesn’t believe her. “Some concussion symptoms may not appear until hours or even a couple days later, so monitoring for symptoms over the next few days is a smart idea,” she says as she swabs the gash on Desi’s cheek with antiseptic. “Check in with a doctor if your symptoms get worse or don’t resolve within seven to ten days.” 

Desi smiles with the half of her face the woman’s not currently trying to attach gauze to. “I’ll be fine,” she says. “Am I good to go?” 

The EMT looks down at the pulse oximeter clipped to Desi’s hand, and she must be satisfied with the reading, because she unclips it and nods. “You need to rest, and ice your wrist, but you’ll be alright. No strenuous activity until those ribs heal, and you shouldn’t be driving until you’ve got your head on straight again.” She taps the side of her own head to illustrate before turning to stow her equipment.

“I can give you a ride,” Riley says, seeing Desi’s frown. “You can crash at my place.”

Desi shakes her head and shoves down the wave of nausea that accompanies the movement. “My address didn’t get leaked to the dark web,” she says. “You’re welcome to stay at mine if you really don’t think I can be trusted on my own.” Her mouth curves up into the tiniest of smiles.

“You bet I don’t,” Riley says. “C’mon, Wonder Woman. Let’s get you home.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually wrote the majority of this shortly after I wrote the first chapter, wasn't happy with it, and set it aside for *checks notes* nine months? Finally went back, tweaked some things, and actually finished it. Please enjoy the much-delayed comfort half of the hurt/comfort!
> 
> Some _very_ vaguely hinted-at ships here, but nothing's tagged because if you're not looking for it, it is simply Not There.

“You sure you’re not drowning in there?” Riley yells. It’s the second time she’s checked on Desi in the shower, which means it’s probably past time for her to be done.

“Not dead yet,” Desi tosses back with a cheerfulness she doesn’t feel. No amount of scrubbing can shake the acrid smell of burned plastic that hangs around her, and she’s not entirely sure she’s not imagining it at this point. She heaves a sigh that sends knife-sharp pain spiking down her side as she shuts the water off. 

Drying off is a losing battle against all the bruises that are slowly but surely making their appearance. Several minutes and a steady string of muttered curses later, she gives up and fights her way into a t-shirt and sweatpants, ignoring the way the clothes cling to her still-damp skin. The room spins as she straightens back up, and she reaches out to steady herself, gripping the edge of the vanity so tightly with her one good hand that her knuckles go white. She stares herself down in the mirror, wills her reflection to stay still, dammit, and uncurls her fingers from the counter one by one. It’s two steps to the door. She can handle this. One step. The room wobbles. Two steps, and she pulls the door open a little too hard and leans against the frame.

Riley’s leaned against the wall by the door, holding a glass of water and a bottle of ibuprofen. “Thought you might want these,” she says, rattling the pill bottle. “Since you didn’t stick around long enough for Medical to give you anything stronger.”

Desi shakes her head and immediately regrets it. “Don’t want anything stronger,” she says as she takes the ibuprofen from her and twists the bottle open with her less injured hand. The last thing she needs is pills that would scramble her brain even more. She shakes pills out, sending one skittering across the floor. Well. That’s a problem for when she can bend over without sending her vision spinning. 

Riley shrugs. “Suit yourself.” She snags the pill bottle from Desi’s hand and swaps it for the water. “Here.”

“Thanks.” Desi forces the tiniest bit of a smile onto her face. “Cheers,” she says, taking a mouthful of water and tossing the pills into her mouth before swallowing the whole works. She downs the rest of the water, and it does nothing for the way her throat still burns, but her stomach doesn’t reject it, so she’s counting that as a success. 

Riley gestures at her wrist. “You need that wrapped back up?” 

“Wouldn’t hurt,” Desi says, glancing down at the offending wrist, swollen and turning interesting shades of mottled purple. She frowns at it. 

“Do you… have Ace bandage?” Riley says slowly, after a long silence, and Desi realizes she’s been staring blankly at her bruises for a slightly unreasonable amount of time. 

“Hmm?” She blinks. “Um. In the,” she gestures vaguely, “in the thing behind you.”

Riley turns. “The closet?” she says, already opening it. Desi doesn’t bother to nod. “Brain a little scrambled there?” 

“Not badly,” Desi objects. 

Riley doesn’t argue, too busy digging through Desi’s pile of first aid things. “Jesus Christ, are you expecting the apocalypse?” She pulls out a bag and rifles through it. “How many burn dressings does one person need?”

“You’d be surprised.” 

Riley glances over her shoulder to give her a look that says, _I’m concerned about your life choices._ “I think I’ve had enough surprises for the rest of the year, thanks,” she says. “Or, you know, the rest of my life.” She turns around, holding up a roll of bandage. “Give me your hand.”

Desi doesn’t move. “I can handle it myself,” she says. 

Riley raises her eyebrows. “Yeah, but you don’t need to.” Without waiting for a response, she reaches out and takes Desi’s injured hand gently, wrapping the bandage around it with careful, firm motions. Desi stares blankly at the bandage. Riley has nice hands. Steady. 

When she looks up, Riley is giving her a confused look. “Thanks?” Riley says, one eyebrow raised, and, oh. Desi said that out loud. 

“Yes you did,” Riley says, the tiniest hint of a smile sliding across her face, and you know what, that’s the least worried Desi’s seen her since the courthouse. She’ll take it. 

“See?” she says once Riley’s finished, holding up her hand. “Good as new.” 

“You should rest,” Riley says as she tosses Desi’s first aid kit back into the closet. “And you’re supposed to ice your wrist.” 

Desi grins, the motion tugging at the cut on her face that she hasn’t bothered to rebandage. “It’s not that bad,” she says. “I’ve had worse.” She slides past Riley to set the empty glass she’s still holding on the counter. She leans on the counter for a moment as her vision swims.

“I hope you know that is just, the opposite of reassuring,” Riley says, following her as she turns to dig through her freezer for a bag of frozen vegetables, like she’s concerned Desi might fall. Probably not a completely baseless worry, Desi supposes as she turns around and immediately tilts until Riley steadies her.

“Don’t worry about me,” Desi says, frozen corn in hand as Riley leads her to the couch. “I’ll live. I always do.” She grins as she lies down on the couch and arranges herself with her wrist propped up on the back and covered with her makeshift ice pack. “Like a cockroach.” 

“That’s horrible, thanks,” Riley says, making a face. She settles herself sideways in one of Desi’s chairs and balances her laptop on her legs. 

“Surely you’ve got better things to do than babysit me,” Desi says, raising her eyebrows. 

“I can multitask,” Riley says, looking unconcerned as she types. “Someone’s gotta make sure you’re not playing in traffic.” 

That startles a laugh out of Desi before her ribs remind her that laughing is a bad idea. “And here I am mono-tasking like an idiot.” The room is starting to sway again, and she closes her eyes, just for a second, just to stop the swirling in her vision. 

She wakes up coughing, knife-sharp pains stabbing into her side at each jarring movement. Before she fully registers what’s happening, Riley’s got a hand on her shoulder, guiding her to sit up and telling her to breathe. She takes one shaky breath, then another, before she accepts the glass of water Riley’s trying to give her. “Thanks,” she croaks, taking a drink, only to regret it a moment later as her stomach tries to reject it. She grits her teeth and presses the back of her hand to her mouth. 

Riley gives her a concerned look and ducks away, turning back a second later with trash can in hand. “Here,” she says. “Don’t throw up on your floor.” 

Desi makes a face—given the choice, she’d rather not throw up again at all—but she takes the can and, a second later, loses the battle with her stomach and retches into the can. There’s nothing left in her stomach except water and acid, and it burns her already-sore throat. “Ugh.” She sets the can down, drinks the rest of the water, hopes she can keep it down.

“When was the last time you ate?” Riley asks, frowning at her. 

Desi opens her mouth to answer and freezes, trying to think back. It takes her a bit, brain fuzzy from the concussion and just having woken up. “On the plane?” she says uncertainly after a long moment. She scowls at Riley’s look of concern. “I’m fine.”

“Even superheroes need to eat,” Riley says from the kitchen, where she’s staring into Desi’s mostly-empty fridge. She closes the door and digs in her pocket for her phone. “I’m going to order something. What are you going to be able to keep down?”

Desi makes a face, stomach turning at the thought of food, but Riley’s right, it’s been ages since she’s eaten, and under the nausea, she’s starving. “Rice,” she says after a moment’s thought, and she’s not entirely confident about that, even, but it’s probably the safest bet. She zones out while Riley calls, tunes out the words and lets her voice wash over her as she stares at a random point on the wall. It’s a nice voice, she thinks distantly. Calm. Grounding. 

“Food will be here soon,” Riley announces, dropping back into the chair she’s claimed. 

Desi hums a vague sound of acknowledgement, and a comfortable sort of silence settles over them as Riley goes back to whatever she’s working on. She zones out again, because it’s too much work to keep her mind focused, and she startles so hard at the sound of the door buzzer that she nearly knocks over the trash can on the floor next to her. 

Riley’s a little more with it, thankfully, hitting the button to let the delivery person in and meeting them at the door. Desi’s still a little fuzzy when Riley returns with the bag, setting it on the coffee table and dropping onto the couch next to Desi instead of reclaiming the chair. “Thanks,” Desi says as Riley hands her a carton of rice. “I owe you one.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Riley says. “If anything, I owe you for all the times you’ve already saved our asses.” She bumps her shoulder against Desi’s at that, and the contact is grounding, comfortable, and Desi doesn’t even mind that it kind of hurts. 

“Just doing my job,” Desi says, taking a bite and silently hoping it stays down. Someone has to look after Jack’s crew with him gone. Speaking of which… “How’s Mac doing?” 

Riley shrugs. “As well as can be expected,” she says. 

Desi frowns. Not exactly a reassuring assessment of his condition. “You guys getting together tonight?”

“Don’t know,” Riley says, giving Desi a once-over look over her food. “I think Mac will forgive us for skipping out on this one.”

Desi shakes her head, slowly enough it doesn’t feel like her brain is rattling around in her skull. “If you want to go, I’ll come with,” she says. Better to see for herself how everyone is holding up. “I don’t want to keep you away on my account.”

Riley gives her a look like she sees right through her. “I’ll let Mac know we’ll be there,” she says, fishing her phone out of her pocket and tapping out a text. 

Desi grins and reaches over to swipe a piece of chicken from Riley’s container of food. Riley pointedly pretends not to notice.

\---

Desi spends most of the ride to Mac’s in the same slightly out-of-focus state she seems to slip into as soon as she’s not actively concentrating—more than a little concerning, to say the least. Riley keeps glancing over at her like she’s worried Desi’s going to disappear entirely if she doesn’t keep an eye on her. Like she’s in any condition to be able to go anywhere without Riley noticing. 

It takes her long enough to realize that the car has stopped that by the time she’s done fighting with the seatbelt, Riley is already standing on her side of the car, door opened, offering her a hand up. “I can walk on my own,” Desi says, even as she takes Riley’s hand with her uninjured one and pulls herself to her feet.

“I know,” Riley says. She doesn’t comment on the way Desi catches her elbow and keeps her hand there as they walk inside. 

Desi’s already steadier, anyway, just barely using Riley for balance instead of leaning on her like before. “See?” she says, letting her hand drop and taking a few steps. “Just fine.” 

Riley gives her a skeptical look at that, but at least she seems convinced Desi’s not in imminent danger of losing her balance now. “Stay out of traffic,” she says with a wry grin before she walks away. 

She stands still for a moment—despite her reassurances to Riley, she’s not entirely convinced walking is a safe endeavor—and almost misses Mac walking up to her. “Traffic?” he says, tilting his head. He looks like a confused puppy. (And if there’s any higher power looking out for her, she did _not_ say that out loud.)

“That’s—never mind,” she says, waving a hand dismissively. 

Mac’s eyes follow the movement, and she realizes she’s gestured with her bandaged hand. “I wanted to thank you for saving my father,” he says. “I heard what you did was a little, well,” he pauses to glance pointedly down at her wrist and its bandage, “risky.” 

“I only did what I thought you would do,” she says honestly, and yeah, maybe taking a swing at a flashbang isn’t exactly his style based on what she’s seen firsthand, but she’s heard the story from Jack, at least a dozen times, Mac crashing a car into a utility box and pulling Jack out of a fire with his bare hands. She knows he’s not afraid to fall back on brute force if that’s what it takes to save the people he loves. She grins. “Guess you’re rubbing off on me.”

Mac looks like he’s not sure how to feel about that. “Well, thanks.” He looks down at the floor, shuffles his feet awkwardly. “You want a beer?”

Desi opens her mouth to reply, but before she can get any words out, Riley reappears behind her. “Do not even think about giving this woman alcohol,” Riley says, startlingly close to Desi’s ear. She should probably be worried that Riley managed to get so close without her noticing. 

Desi makes a face. “She’s probably right,” she says and gestures to her head. “I’m a little concussed.” Disappointment starts to creep across Mac’s face, and Desi cuts him off before he can speak. “But I’ve got time.” She points a thumb at Riley. “Since she’s my ride and all. I’ll take a soda if you have it?”

“Just a _little_ concussed,” Riley says, and Desi can hear her rolling her eyes. “Only a couple cracked ribs. Practically nothing.” 

Mac winces. “Don’t you need to rest?” 

“You know what they say, no rest for the wicked.” Desi grins, maybe a little less reassuring and more Cheshire-Cat than she was going for. At the raised-eyebrows look that Riley and Mac trade, she adds, “I’ll be fine in a few days. Really. Nothing serious.” 

Mac makes a face like he doesn’t quite believe her. “Soda it is,” he says. “Coke okay?” 

Desi shrugs with the shoulder that doesn’t hurt to lift. “Whatever is fine.” Truth be told, she doesn’t particularly want the soda at all, but, well—Mac is very clearly not okay right now, and while any problem Desi can’t punch is a little out of her depth, she’s not too dumb to see that these get-togethers matter to him. To the whole team, really. May as well make some attempt to participate. 

Riley’s giving her a concerned look again as Mac turns away to get the soda she doesn’t really want. “You good?” she asks.

Desi nods the tiniest bit. “Fine,” she says, for probably the hundredth time before turning to take a few only slightly shaky steps toward the fire pit. She doesn’t make it very far before Riley catches her arm to steady her again. “You don’t have to do that.” 

Riley shows no sign of moving away, though. “I don’t mind,” she says. She doesn’t drop her hand until Desi sits down, and even then, Riley takes the seat right next to her. Riley presses her shoulder against Desi’s, gently enough that it doesn’t hurt. “You don’t have to be a one-woman army all the time.” 

Desi’s still thinking about that much later in the evening as she watches Mac and Bozer across the dying fire, embroiled in a heated, slightly drunk discussion of a movie Desi’s never seen, and she can tell Bozer’s heart isn’t in it, but he’s keeping Mac’s mind off everything for a little while, so she’s certainly not about to call him on it. Riley’s still sitting next to her, and Desi’s not sure if Riley’s moved closer or if she’s started leaning toward Riley, but she’s pretty sure Riley is holding her upright at this point. She’s certainly not a one-woman army right now. A two-woman army, maybe. (With Riley as the second woman in this army, she’s pretty sure that’s all they’d ever need.) 

“I appreciate the vote of confidence,” Riley says, sounding amused, and oh, great, she’s tired enough to be saying dumb things out loud again. 

“Sorry,” she says. “Tired.” Any more words than that are just too much work at this point. 

“If you fall asleep, you’d better not drool on me,” Riley says. 

“’m not gonna fall asleep,” Desi mumbles into Riley’s shoulder. 

Desi feels more than hears Riley’s soft laugh. “Uh-huh. Doing a real good job of not falling asleep there.” 

She doesn’t bother to reply. She’s not going to fall asleep, but even if she does, she’s got Riley to lean on. Beats being a solo act.

She tucks her head a bit more firmly into Riley’s shoulder and smiles the tiniest bit when Riley pretends not to notice.


End file.
